


These Demons; They Haunt Me.

by Paralyzed_Words



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paralyzed_Words/pseuds/Paralyzed_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edith survived Crimson Peak, but she wasn’t able to leave her demons behind. She is slowly working on publishing her work and helping Alan McMicheal recover from his injuries and keep his practice open. But there are things that lurk in the darkness, real demons that won’t let Edith go. She wants to start over, but as a darkness slowly creep in; it might just consume her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_**CHAPTER ONE** _

 

Her nights were full of dreams in crimson. The creaks and moans of the decrepit house that had been a source of real nightmares for Edith Cushing. The weeks right after the events had been restless, the young blonde was lucky if she was able to get more than an hour of sleep. But now, six months had passed, and although her sleep was plagued with nightmares, it was much better than being awake with her thoughts.

Many people whispered about what they assumed happened when Edith came back with a scarred face and a wounded Alan. Some say she out-ride  _murdered_  Thomas Sharpe, others tip-toe around her as if Edith was a wilting flower.

Nothing infuriated her more.

In these six months, Edith had stayed strong, she bared the scar on her cheek with pride. She was a survivor, not a victim.

"You never cease to amaze me." Alan had commented on one of his good mornings while he laid in a hospital bed. His thumb lightly running across the healing scar. His injuries had been critical but he had insisted he was  _fine_ when all the doctors said otherwise.

He too would have his own scar to remember what happened.

After about two months in a hospital bed, Alan had been cleared to leave, his frame slimmer than before but his features holding a sense of pleasure. He now walked with a cane, the cut had been deep and prevented the doctor from standing up straight without pain greeting him. There was no bitterness from Alan, he took the cane without protest, bearing the same ideals as Edith. There was no need to hide his injuries.

The two of them shared a house but not a bedroom.

Alan continued his practice from home, and it was slowly gaining ground. Edith spent her days (and sometimes nights) perfecting her manuscript. This would be her story and she would not alter it to appease others.

Her hands rapidly scrawled across the pages, her beautiful handwriting painting the paper. Her mind was at work, making sure to get every detail right and not fabricate or gloss over the events that transpired. As the story grew, her mind replaying the events at Crimson Peak, she felt her stomach turn, a knot forming in her stomach as the words appeared on the pale page.

These words were personal, as if she were writing in a private journal. This one would be made public.

Not only were the feelings she felt toward Thomas real, they were also still lingering in the back of her mind. A mix of emotions was packaged with it, but those were only faint compared to the love she'd held for Thomas. There had never been any doubt in her mind about her affection towards the man, even in the end, she  _dreaded_ losing him.

Knuckles rap against the door, drawing Edith from her thoughts. She removed her glasses from her face and let them rest on the desk. Slowly, she turned, already knowing who was standing in her doorway.

"You missed lunch again." There is a crooked smile across the doctor's features, a twinkle in his eyes that still amazed Edith to this day. Always well dressed, with hair combed back too perfection. He was a handsome man; someone many of the women in town sought after. Yet here he was; not off courting women as he should be, but making sure Edith didn't waste away as she wrote.

"Did I?" Her voice is smooth, as if this wasn't a common thing. "I didn't notice the time."

But she was now noticing her stomach that felt empty. As soon as breakfast had finished, Edith strolled into her study and hadn't moved since.

Alan stepped into the room, his third leg appearing from behind the wall.

"I see you've made progress." His eyes glanced over her fresh pile; (also noting the few scattered across the floor). "Would you like me to look them over tonight?"

Edith's stomach tightened even more.

Alan always read her pages, offering slight suggestions and just proof-reading for her. Something she greatly appreciated. Yet, as the story grew more personal, as her feelings fell onto the pages, she felt it wrong to allow Alan to into those thoughts.

It was no secret his feelings for her. He'd expressed them in minimal words once his health had improved at the hospital. He never expected her to return his feelings, he hadn't even brought them up since. And, although Edith's view on love and romance was more cynical than ever, and her career was the only thing on her mind for the most part, she would not strike out the possibility altogether.

Alan reading these pages, her words expressing feelings she'd never felt before in great detail, left a tightness in her stomach. Not because she was ashamed of the feelings, but because she did not want to witness Alan's face once he read them.

"Maybe." She says, offering him a faint smile.

There was a pause as Edith stood up, brushing off her dress and turning to him. "Have you eaten? Or were you kind enough to wait for me?"

"What do you think?" He remarks with a dashing smile.

"I think I am  _famished_." She laughs as he links their arms and begins for the door.

"Me too."

**XXX**

The two of them sit at the small dining table Edith had bought after getting rid of the giant one her father had placed in their old home. She didn't see the point in owning such a large table when there would be no more than two people sitting around it most of the time. Edith had never been a fan of the large parties and gossiping people. She much preferred quiet dinners.

"My mother is at it again." Alan says after some comfortable silence. Edith gently sets her spoon on the side of her bowl and looks at him with raised eyebrows. "I have tried to prevent her from spreading this ludicrous rumors, but she  _insists_  they are true."

There is a bitterness in his voice that almost always joins Alan's words when he speaks of his mother. Since the two of them had returned, Mrs. McMicheal had tried to completely destroy Edith's reputation with nasty rumors of what she  _assumed_  happened at Allerdale Hall. When Alan had informed his mother he would be moving in with Edith, the women nearly had a heart attack, demanding he rethinking his relationship with that "half-faced spinster".

Edith ignored it all, she had never been bothered by what others thought of her, and after all she'd seen and been through, she cared even less than before.

"What is she saying about me now that she hasn't already said?"

There was a moment of silence as the blonde man before her looked away. "She is speaking ill of your father." He paused for only a moment as his eyes lifted once more, and the words passed his lips quietly. "I have dismissed them as fast as I could, most people do not believe her. You're father was a good man, Edith. No matter what my mother says, she cannot take that away."

"She can try." It was now Edith's turn to hold bitterness in her words. "Why must she do this? I have never done anything to her and my father certainly hasn't!"

"I know…" Alan adjusted himself in his seat, moving his legs so he was facing her. His hand found hers and gently held them. Compared to her fragile, slim fingers that were always cold, his larger hands always brought a warmth she craved from time-to-time. "Don't let her get to you. That is all she wants."

Edith did not withdraw her hand, but her eyes were as ice as her hands were cold when she spoke. "What is she saying?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Alan." Her voice is stern, "Just tell me what she is saying."

He sighed, his eyes not falling this time. "All she is saying is that he was a drunk."

She almost laughed dryly at how absurd it was. Her father only indulged in a drink when it was a social thing. It was rare for him to touch a drop when the two of them were alone. The man knew his limits and never allowed himself to be a drunken mess in front of potential clients and his fellow businessmen. Her father was a smart man.

She was no longer hungry, and now wanted to go into her room and continue writing. She removed her hand from Alan's and quickly stood up. She produces a faint smile across her features, tells Alan she does not want to be bothered because she has a lot of work to do, and parts without anything else.

But when she returns to her room, she heads for the bed instead of her desk.

Lucille Sharpe had committed the act that took her father from her far too soon, but Edith was not blinded to the fact Thomas had a part in the whole ordeal. The more she thought about it, the more her feelings for the deceased man she fell in love with muddled.

A sigh passed her lips as she closed her eyes, ignoring the dim sun that shined through her window, and the slight creeks of the house as Alan paced around his office. She turned her mind of, forgot about Mrs. McMicheal and her horrible rumors, forgot about Thomas Sharpe and Crimson Peak; all she wanted to do was sleep and have it not be filled with the color  **RED.**

By some miracle, she was granted that wish. Edith fell into a blissful sleep of silence, the sun descending into the sky and turning to night.

It was late into the night, close to rounding half past one, when Edith is startled awake. Her body jolts forward, the sound of someone slowly knocking at her door had disrupted the silent air. For a moment, Edith did not move, she stays sprawled across her bed until the reality fully settles in.

"Alan?" She calls out, but even before his name leaves her lips she knows it is not him.

Slowly, she lifts herself up on the bed, staring at the door where the noise is coming from. She does not went to venture off the bed to investigate because she has an idea what is lurking behind the door.

Her head falls back on the pillow, her eyes close but there is nowhere for her to reach for sleep. The bounding for the door is the only thing she can focus on. It consumes the room, vibrates in her bones and echoes in her head. A slow motion of her hands moving to cover her ears does nothing to dull the sound.

The knocking only grows in volume, clearly not going to stop until she is facing whatever lies beyond it. Edith swings her legs off the bed and moves to approach the door. Her steps are slow, each step taken as if she is walking on needles. No breath escaped her as the walk to the door felt as if an eternity was passing. Her feet stop a few inches from the door, her eyes examining as the door slightly shakes in its frame from the pounding in the other side.

Her lips part to utter words but none pass them.

Slowly, with a slight tremble in her hand, she takes the doorknob in her palm and slowly opens the door, a screech from the hinges going unheard ber Edith as her eyes behold the figure standing outside her door.

"Lucille?"


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry about this long wait for an update. I had written most of this chapter over break but things came up and I was unable to finish until now. I hope you enjoy it, thank you all for the lovely reviews.

The figure before her lifted its pale face, wielding a sharp smirk across it’s lips. Unlike many of the other spirits Edith had encountered. Lucille was not a black mass like her mother had been, or drenched in crimson like the souls of the women who’d fallen victim to the Sharpes, nor was she a milky version of her former self like her brother had been. Lucille’s face was altered, slashed; showing the marks from the final blow Edith inflicted. The hair that rolled over her shoulder, covering the maroon attire she wore. It was as rich and dark as when the woman had been drawing breath. 

Her eyes were the worst. Alive, they always held daggers for Edith, a hatred resided in them Edith had wanted to uncover. Now, much more than just hatred stared back -- there was darkness. 

Edith fought for more words other than the woman’s name, but none came. A scream itched at the back of her throat, but it did not dare jump into the air. A glove covered hand reaches out a nimble finger; the figure steps forward while Edith draws back.

“You!” It hisses, stepping forward more. The light from the moon sweeps over it’s features, revealing the sinister creature in its full glory. Not only did the apparition appear more mangled than Edith had first assumed, but the darkness in its eyes were  **VENGEFUL** . 

The thought of Lucille’s ghosts appearing at her door had crossed Edith’s mind a number of times. The fear of confronting this woman again had been vague but strong enough to cause question. In the end, she reasoned the woman’s spirit would be bound to Allerdale Hall like the others who’d perished there. 

“You!” It hissed once more, stepping forward. With each step the spirit approached, Edith took two steps back. “You did this!”

No words came to mind, her mouth opened once more to offer words but only a weak cry entered the air. 

Their footsteps became insink, the steps moving forward and backing away at the same time. The back of her foot hit the wall, her back soon followed as the room behind her ran out. 

“What do you want?” The words choke past her, leaving a lump in her throat. Edith could handle the living, but the dead was another story.

The reality around her stuck to her clothes, proof that this wasn’t a dream but the cruel world she had to endure. 

The  _ creature _ in front of her let out a wet laugh, it echoed around them, bouncing off the walls and repeating as if they were standing in a tunnel and not Edith’s room. Lucille now stood a foot away from Edith, a boney finger rose to gently slide down Edith’s cheek, leaving a streak of cold in its wake. 

“What do you think I want?” The voice rang again, a sickening sweetness to it that turned bitter the more the spirit spoke. “The moment you stepped into my house, I knew you were different. You took  _ everything _ from me. My home, my brother-- ”

“You’re the one who  _ murdered _ Thomas!” Edith instantly retorted, her eyes turning from fear into daggers. 

“Yes; but you turned him  _ against _ me! He was perfected before he found you, falling for your blonde hair and ‘innocence’.” Her already mangled face turned into one of utter disgust. “I should have killed you when I assumed the worst when the two of you stayed at the inn. It was always easy for Thomas to find a  _ pathetic _ rich women.”

Edith kept her body pressed against the wall, her blue eyes not turning away from Lucille. She would not be afraid of this women, she would not allow this women -- this  _ dead _ women -- to instill fear in her life again. 

“None of the pain you suffered was because of me!”

As Edith remembered, she was the one targeted, she was the one forced to drink poison unwillingly, she was the one that would be number four in their string of murders. All the young blonde had done was fight for her own life. 

Trapped in a corner, Edith could do nothing but stare into the black eyes of Lucille. Fear crawled up the blonde’s skin, but she refused to back down. After all, Lucille was the dead one. 

And then it came to Edith. 

She closed her eyes, erasing the fear from her mind, creating a barrier between her and the dead women in front of her. “Leave.” The word passed her lips loudly,  echoing around the room similar to the way Lucille’s had but with strength. A moment passed before the air lightened and Edith felt as if she was able to breath again. 

Once her eyes were open, she no longer was staring into the face of death, but at the darkness of her room. 

**~ XXX ~**

Edith had only managed to get a few more hours of sleep before the light of dawn awoke her. The moment she woke, she shed her clothes and indulged in a long-needed bath. Savoring the warmth and security of the water, allowing it to run cold before she drained the water, her skin pruned. 

The memories of the night before where clear in her head. The image of Lucille standing in front of her with such rage in her black eyes was more haunting than any ghost Edith had witnessed before. It would happen again, that she was sure of. The presence Lucille had brought with her was  _ strong,  _ taking up all the air around her and claiming it as her own. 

A feeling Edith would not soon forget. 

After several days isolating herself in the house and with the events of the night before still lingering over her head, Edith knew it was time she went into town and got some fresh air. 

“Alan?” She knocked on the arch of his open door once she was fully dressed and her hair was pinned up and out of her face. 

The blond man was standing over a pile of papers, his forehead creased as he examined the pile. She had to knock three times before he was drawn from whatever he’d been pondering. The moment his eyes settled on hers, his face light up, the crease disappearing from his forehead. Not even a moment later, he was limping forward to greet her. 

“I thought you’d lock yourself in your study again.”

“Not today; I need a bit of fresh air.” The smile on her face blossomed as Alan’s did. “If you’re not too busy, I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me.”

“I don’t have any appointments today.”

“Good!” She turned and started down the hall, her pace slow to make it ease for Alan to keep up. “I think it’s about time I show my face again anyway, dispel these rumors that I’ve suddenly turned into a circus attraction.” 

She knew the rumors, some spread by Alan’s mother, others spread by women just looking for something to gossip about. For some reason, Edith was a hot topic, even after months had passed since she’d returned home. Maybe it was due to the fact she rarely went into town. The hens chattered too much for her ears to handle. But she would humor them once in awhile. Plus, the last thing Edith wanted them to think was that they won.

(There was also a small hope in the back of her mind that someone would dare bring up the ghastly rumor of her father being a drunk -- she was ready to defend her father. )

They take a carriage into town and stop at the bookstore first, the only place Edith really wants to go. Alan suggested the two of them gather a few other things while their out. The weather is warm as the seasons change, the bookstore warmer than the outside as the two of them step inside. 

“Just think,” Alan says as he steps into the bookstore beside her. “Soon your book will be on display for purchase.” 

There is so much faith in his words, so much admiration that sometimes Edith has trouble coming up with words to say. Comments like that always part his lips when they step into the bookstore, and she cannot help but smile at the thought. The manuscript that was slowly forming on her desk was something she was proud of. Despite the memories she was reliving along with the mass of emotions, she was pouring her heart and soul into the project and would not bat an eye  at accepting praise for it. 

“It’s not like you’ll have to buy a copy,” She smirks, strolling deeper into the store. 

“Of course I will buy a copy!”

A chuckle leave her lips as she turns slightly, “I meant, I’m not going to  _ make _ you buy one. Once it goes into print, it will be my gift to you.”

“You think that will stop me from buying an extra copy?” A gentle laugh passes his lips. Edith just rolls her eyes and continues to the back of the store. 

She had been so involved in her own novel, reading had become something she had to think about. It was strange that she was having trouble to find the time to read when she had all the time on her hands. When she wasn’t writing, her mind was occupied by other things. 

With the events of last night still not shaken from her thoughts, she knew it was time for her to step back from writing, if only for a day or two, and read something to distract herself. 

Delicate fingers skimmed the titles on the shelves, searching for something that peaked her interest she had not read before. The options were minimal at best. One of the reasons being the fact she was always an avid reader, always begging her father to buy her a story whenever the two of them went out. But the reason this time was a little more complicated than that. Although there were plenty of books that she’d never picked up before, they all seemed to share the same type of story. 

Romance.

Her mind was sick of romance novels and stories of lost love. She’d read enough for two lifetimes. And the only reason her story included the idea at all was due to the fact it was  _ her _ true story. 

“No luck with something interesting?” Alan says, appearing beside her. 

“I guess I’ve read them all.”

**~ XXX ~**

It was about an hour later, after Edith had picked through a number of titles and decided she’d select one blindly and hope for the best. She needed something new to read regardless of the genre it fell under. Now her and Alan strolled down the road, their arms linked. 

Alan wanted to prepare a stew tonight and they needed ingredients. Edith didn’t mind, she need the leg stretch and fresh air more than she realized.

Once they arrive at the market, Edith mentions how she’d like to take a peak in the dress shop and she’ll meet Alan outside once done. 

She hasn’t much need for a dress, it’s rare for her to attend parties or go out on occasion, but that did not mean she didn’t like to admire the beautiful lace. Her eyes are instantly drawn to the beautiful sun-kissed dress that is displayed towards the back. Once she is in front of it, her fingers lightly caress the silk fabric, taking in the simplistic beauty of the dress.

A moment passes before she is taking it and quickly finding a mirror to press the dress to herself and decide how she’d look wearing it.

“Why bother? It’s not like you have anywhere to wear it.”

Edith does not turn around at the voice, she keeps her eyes on the dress in the reflection. A moment passes before a women is wedged in the corner of the mirror. 

The women in question is a girl Edith attended school with. They’d never been particularly fond of each other, but they’d always been civil. But, by the expression etched onto the other blonde’s face, that the civil nature between them was about to end. 

Edith turns, keeping the dress press up against her front. An easy smile falls onto her face, a lightness to her eyes. “Is it wrong from a women to simply wear something nice around her house?” 

That was her intentions because the moment Mary spoke, Edith had made up her mind, she would buy the dress and not feel ashamed if no one other than herself and Alan saw her in it. 

“It is rather sad, even for you. Don’t you think Edith?”

All of these attempts to anger Edith rolled off the blonde’s back. All of this was so petty, she had no time for such things. Without another word, Edith was careful not to allow the dress to sweep the floor as she headed to the register. 

There was no need to pay much attention to the price. Her father left her with a massive sum. (The very thing she was almost killed for.) 

Mary was behind her, buying a hand mirror. Her face was scrunched up, as if there was a foul smell in the air. Edith knew she should have just kept to her own business, but the words slipped passed her lips before she was able to stop them. “I’d be careful Mary, you don’t want to hold your face like that for too long. You wouldn’t want it to stay that way?”

The woman’s face instantly dropped. Instead of her forehead having creases, it was now flat, her mouth slightly ajar.  Edith turned back to pay for the dress she’d be wearing on Sunday.

It did not take long for the dress to be placed in a box, bought and paid for.  

“Goodbye, Mary!” Edith says as she exits the store, her voice layered in a fake sweetness. 

Alan is perched on a bench, his cain resting against his left leg as his eyes scan the newspaper. Edith is silent as she moves to sit beside him. Almost instantly he sets the paper down, eyes moving from hers to the box in her lap. 

“I didn’t think you’d buy something,”

She just shrugs. 

**~ XXX ~**

The book she bought today rested open on her lap but to the fifth page of the story.

She had not picked up a romance story; she’d picked up a ghost story. One that, once she realized what it was, left chills up and down her arms.

Nightmares plagued her nights of the dead, the visit from Lucille the night before had still not fully left her, and now she laid awake in bed, knowing there would soon be another knock at her door.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not every chapter will end this way.


End file.
